


Keep Going

by VarjoRuusu



Series: Black Sails Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: Black Sails, James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: AU, Bullets, Crossover, Fluff, M/M, Spies, The Bond Crossover No One Asked For, bullet wounds, established relationships - Freeform, secret agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-02 18:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11515200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarjoRuusu/pseuds/VarjoRuusu
Summary: The Black Sails/James Bond Crossover that literally no one asked for. But I bet you'll all love.James is injured on a mission in Rome and Thomas happens to be in the area to get him out and clean him up.The M is for stab wounds, bullet holes and blood.





	Keep Going

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thelastatlantean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelastatlantean/gifts).



> Sooooo this is what happened to this prompt. I may write a second part, I may not. If this universe amuses me, we shall see. 8D

#44. I'm going to keep you safe

_'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.'_ The litany of curses ran through James' head as he ran, trying to keep to the shadows and still move quickly. The target hadn't been as neutral as he'd been led to believe and they'd fought back. Hard. By the time the security guards had turned up, he'd terminated the mark, but not without a bullet in his right shoulder, (his gun arm) and a stab wound to the left thigh.

His comms were long gone, his cell phone was smashed. All he could do was run, run and try and get the hell out of the underbelly of Rome and to the safe house as soon as he could. He was compromised, badly, and if he bled out before he could make it, then that was going to be the end of him.

“Fuck,” he breathed again as he rounded a corner. The sounds behind him had dwindled, the three thugs were no doubt fairly low in brain power, since hired muscle of that size usually was, and they were slow. He'd found over the years that marks tended to hire the biggest, slowest men to protect them, because they hit first and, asked questions later or never. At least it gave him some chance to escape.

Pausing for a moment, he tore a strip off his shirt and wrapped it around his leg. There was nothing he could really do, but the bleeding was sluggish and had missed the vital artery, so he thought it might not kill him. His shoulder was another matter and he stuffed a wad of cloth from his shirt inside the sleeve of his coat to try and stop the bleeding. It hurt like hell, but at least it was dark and his long black coat would hide the majority of his injuries. He needed to get to a phone.

There was a cafe down the street, still open despite the late hour, some kind of party going on. It was enough noise and loudly shouted Italian that James was able to wander past and snag three cell phones from pockets and purses, quickly disappearing around the corner, fingers already dialling.

“ _This is Spencer,”_ the other end picked up and James sighed in relief.

“I've been compromised,” he said quickly. “I'm injured, and I can't get to the safe house.”

“ _You're tracker is still online, I'm sending an agent to extract you,”_ said the clipped tones of the MI6 Quartermaster. _“How on earth you got my personal number, 004?”_

“How do you think,” James muttered with a grin, thinking of the other agent who shared his given name.

“ _Bond. Of course,”_ Q muttered along the line. _“An agent is en route, he'll be there shortly. Can you make your way three blocks east to the square?”_

“I can try,” James muttered, turning left and heading down the street. “Be thankful 007 was kind enough to share your personal number, or you likely would have found my corpse in a gutter come morning.”

“ _Yes, yes, Agent McGraw, don't bother, I know how resilient all of you are.”_

“Mmhmm,” James muttered as he hung up. He smashed the phone and tossed it in the water as he passed a rain barrel and limped as quickly as he could toward the square. Thank christ for James Bond and his inability not to brag about shagging their quartermaster. It may very well have just saved his life. He'd have to remember to buy the other agent a bottle of scotch at the next opportunity.

As he entered the square a sleek silver Jaguar slid up to the curb and the colour briefly made him remember that 001 was still missing, still presumed under deep cover in Costa Rica, not yet listed as dead. He had to take some vacation and go track the little shit down before he did get himself killed, if he hadn't already, playing around with drug cartels. The lock popped and he pulled open the door to the grinning face of 002.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” James asked as he slid into the passenger seat, sighing in relief.

“Wonderful to see you too, darling,” Thomas just about purred as he put the car into gear and sped them to the safe house.

“My day was awful,” James muttered, his eyes closed. “Rugby goons are after me even as we speak.”

Thomas chuckled, speeding them through the streets with ease. In no time at all they were at the safe house and Thomas was helping James out of the car, ushering him inside and onto the couch, which thoughtfully had a black cover on it, to make bloodstains easy to remove. James spared a moment to roll his eyes at team who furnished the MI6 safe houses around the world.

“Stay there, I'll get the kit,” Thomas said softly and James just nodded, his head dropping back against the couch as he relaxed. He was woken a few minuted later by Thomas tugging at his belt and he automatically lifted his hips, hissing when his trousers stuck to the bloody wound on his leg.

“Why do you always get into so much trouble?” Thomas asked softly as he wiped away the blood with a wet cloth.

“Why can't they get the details right?” James replied with a sigh. He noticed a bottle of whiskey on the couch next to him and he reached for it, taking a long drink as Thomas poured disinfectant over his leg.

“Fuck,” James cursed and Thomas shook his head.

“Your shoulder is going to be worse,” he muttered. “There's no exit wound.”

“Does this mean I'm too beat up for any fun?” James asked with a smirk and Thomas levelled him with a glare.

“Rather,” he said dryly, pointedly ignoring the region coverer by James' briefs.

“Thank you,” James said softly after a moment, just as Thomas finished tucking the bandage together around his thigh. Thomas sighed and placed a kiss on James' knee.

“Don't thank me yet,” he said, rising from where he knelt on the carpet. “Stand up, let me get this coat off.”

Reluctantly, James stood, pain sweeping over him as his leg and arm moved and Thomas peeled back the coat, tacky with blood, and what remained of James' once white dress shirt. He hissed at the wound and quickly sat James down again, as soon as he had all the material cleared away. The undershirt he cut away with scissors before the gently cleaned the wound.

“Do you know what caliber it was?” he asked and James shook his head.

“Small,” he muttered, shakily raising his left hand to take a drink from the bottle. He really wished he'd pass out for this part, but he found it unlikely.

“We should get you to a hospital,” Thomas said darkly, already knowing the answer.

“No,” was all James said and Thomas sighed, donning surgical gloves and dragging a lamp over to shine on the wound.

“Hold on to my arm if you need,” Thomas said before he began to examine the wound and James reached across him for his left arm, hand gripping tightly as Thomas began to fish for the bullet. Surprisingly after a few moments, James had passed out and Thomas sighed in relief, finishing his extraction and sewing the wound closed, disinfecting and bandaging it before James stirred again.

With that done, he disposed of the used medical supplies and returned with several warm wet clothes and cleaned as much of the blood as he could find from James, down his arm, across his chest, on his hands. Once that was done he called in briefly to let Q know they were safe, and they'd need a flight out in a day or two. He wasn't overly concerned, but he didn't want to move James just yet, and flying never went very well with bullet holes. It tended to make certain grouchy 00's named James even more grouchy. Q sympathised and booked them on a direct flight to London in three days time.

Returning to the living room, Thomas gently shook James, trying to wake him.

“Come on, love, lets get you to bed,” he said softly and James stirred.

“Thought I was too beat up for that,” he mumbled against Thomas as he stood on shaky legs, his good arm looped around the taller man's shoulders.

“Most certainly, which is why you need sleep,” Thomas said with a fond smile, moving them slowly down the corridor to the bedroom.

Once James was tucked into the large bed, Thomas went into the bathroom and ran the sink, splashing water on his face and finally allowing himself to run through the emotions the evening had brought. He knew James could handle himself, but it was still terrifying, how close it had come. If he hadn't bullied Q's number out of Bond, he might be dead now, just as he said, and Q had relayed. Thomas decided that in the morning, they would return to their talk about retiring. He thought perhaps James would be amenable to it, if for no other reason than he could go and drag his best friend out of Costa Rica and give him an earful about undercover work. Perhaps they'd both go and take 005 with them.

Sighing, Thomas ran his wet hands through his hair then turned off the sink, undressing as he moved back toward the bed, tossing his clothes in a pile on the ground before he crawled under the covers. James immediately moved, reaching for Thomas and Thomas was quickly to enveloped him in a warm embrace.

“I've got you,” he muttered against James' red hair. “You're safe. I'm going to keep you safe.”

“Love you” James muttered against his collarbone and Thomas smiled, kissing James' head.

“I love you too, you reckless idiot,” he chuckled.

“Will I still be too beat up in the morning?” James mumbled, his fingers tracing over Thomas' back, easily sliding down to his ass.

“You incorrigible shit,” Thomas muttered. “We'll see, only if you go to sleep now.”

“Mm. Ok,” James muttered, and was fast asleep. Thomas just smiled fondly and allowed himself to drift off, his lover held protectively in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> So. Just in case it wasn't super easy to figure out, 001 is Silver. 005 is Charles Vane, and 008, though not mentioned, is Anne Bonny. Also in this universe Alec/006 is very much alive because I love him and I like it when he's not evil. 
> 
> I may write a big party where everyone goes to Costa Rica and drags Silver out of the the trouble he's gotten himself into. Who knows.
> 
> I’m on Tumblr [Beneath The Black Sails](http://www.beneaththeblacksails.tumblr.com)


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